More Than Biology
by Liathwen
Summary: Omega Molly Hooper and Alpha Sherlock Holmes are matched for marriage through the government's compatibility system. What happens when they realize they share far more than a mere biological compatibility?


**Alternate title : "I Hope They Got Pictures of Her In The Dress Before He Ripped It Up And Started Grinding On Her Like The Hottie McHotster He Is Oh Yeah" - by Miz-Joely**

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The lacey veil was suffocating, the ivory form fitting dress, nauseating. Molly Hooper looked at her reflection in the mirror and fought back the tears, knowing that it would ruin the makeup so painstakingly perfected by the professionals hired to attend to her on her wedding day. The smoky grey of her eye shadow complimented her large chocolate colored eyes, now slightly dilated, an effect of the building heat within her. Her features were small, almost elfin, and covered with a sheer foundation that didn't really cover, just smoothed out the blemishes. She hated to admit it, but she was horrible with makeup and would not have been able to achieve the same results. She examined herself again. Her thin lips held just a touch of pink, not overpowering her mouth, but adding a bit of shine.

Her body was flushed, she didn't understand exactly what the silent women had done to ensure that the makeup wouldn't run, even though her body temperature was rocketing out of control with the onset of her heat. She was miserable, simultaneously cold and sweaty, her skin itching and a wetness pooling in the flimsy material of her fancy knickers, specially procured for the occasion.

For the millionth time that day, Molly cursed her situation. She'd known, in a vague sort of way, that this would happen to her one day. It happened to all alphas and omegas in this new world order. Ever since the plague that swept through most of the civilized world, rendering the vast majority of the population unable to bear children; governments all across the globe had implemented many forms of regulation on the lives of those were fortunate (or unfortunate, depending on how you looked at it,) to be fertile. Betas were not bothered with, as there were many more of them than alphas or omegas. But the other two groups were now matched up based on fertility and compatibility and forced into arranged marriages. Molly's parents had been lucky enough to have married and had children before the plague; they would have lived happily together still, if he hadn't been taken my disease years before. Even Molly's two brothers were lucky enough to have been born betas, and as such, were free to seek out their own mate, without the interference of the government.

Molly had hoped that she would be incompatible with all alphas, and consequently left alone to pursue her career in the field of pathology, at which she was adept. She was not the most social person, and it suited her just fine. She enjoyed not having the pressure of dealing with people constantly and found a serenity in the puzzles presented to her by the bodies.

As the years passed, she had become more secure in the belief that she would never be matched and had adopted a cat to keep her company, as it appeared she'd be alone for the remainder of her odd little life.

When the letter had arrived in the post, it was a normal day. Molly'd come in the door after a late shift and looked forward to a glass of wine and a cuddle with her cat, Toby, before bed. She'd smacked into someone exiting Bart's and dropped her purse. The man had stopped to help her but his hand had accidentally brushed hers and Molly felt the most curious sort of tingling. The man, who Molly noted with some embarrassment, was quite handsome and fit with gorgeous blue eyes, had drawn his hand back quickly, his eyes wide. He'd murmured some excuse in a deep baritone voice that made Molly shiver and taken off, almost at a run. Molly had looked after him for a moment before shrugging and turning back to put the contents of her purse back together. It was only after he was gone that she'd caught a whiff of his lingering scent and her libido had gone into overdrive. It was all she could think about on the way home and by the time she opened up her door, she was very much in need of some relief.

The sight of the official letter peeking out from under a science journal froze the blood in her veins though, and all thought of arousal was forgotten.

Now, a mere two weeks later, (at the height of her first heat after having received her letter and gone off her suppressants as was required) Molly was standing in front of the full length mirror, idly playing the delicate lace of her veil and cursing her ill luck.

True, her husband seemed rather generous, having insisted on paying the full costs of the rather elaborate wedding. Molly knew nothing about him, aside from his name, (a strange one at that, seriously, who names their child Sherlock?) and the fact that he seemed to be a rather important person, judging from the long list of people invited to the wedding, including several rather famous names. Needless to say, Molly was rather intimidated.

Her eye strayed up to the clock above the door. She had half an hour before her presence would be required downstairs and the ceremony would begin. Half an hour of freedom left. The thin thread of control Molly had exhibited since receiving her letter snapped and she rushed over to the window, throwing it open and desperately looking for a safe way to climb out and down, so she could run away from her overwhelming situation.

"I wouldn't," came a deep voice from behind her, accompanied by the subtle snap of the door closing behind the new arrival.

Molly froze and her eyes widened. She'd heard that voice before somewhere, though not with the strength it displayed now. She slowly turned and her eyes landed on the man she'd run into the fateful day she'd gotten the news. It was mere seconds before everything clicked. He'd received his before her, and had somehow looked her up, and went to, what? Scout her out? See if she was appealing? Confront her? She didn't know.

She stared at him for a few seconds, highly aware of the flush of her body and feeling in her belly, begging her to approach him. He was dressed in a dark suit, which looked to the tailored especially for him. (It wouldn't surprise her if it was, since her dress had been handmade for her, with the seamstress showing up at her flat the day after she'd received her letter with some stunning sketches and a measuring tape.) He wore a dark purple shirt under the jacket, and Molly made note of his apparent refusal to conform to the norm of a white one. She liked the color, it stood out against his gorgeous porcelain skin, and enhanced his long, slender throat. Molly realized with a shock that she really wanted to bite down on that neck.

His eyes were as fascinating as she remembered, swirling greens and blues and greys with the occasional hint of gold when they caught the light just right. At the moment, they were entirely focused on her, the pupils expanded as he unconsciously reacted to her heat, and Molly flushed with a mixture of arousal and satisfaction. She desperately wanted to tilt her head in submission to him, but it wasn't the time, and wasn't she supposed to be upset about this course of events?

Instead, she cleared her throat and said in a wavering, but clear, voice, "It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding."

A genuine grin lit up his handsome face and Molly's knees almost buckled.

"I'm not sure that luck has much to do with our situation, Doctor Hooper," he replied in a smooth voice, as he turned away from her, looking at the items strewn across the vanity. Molly's mouth quirked up a bit as she caught him discreetly adjusting his trousers.

"Regardless, I don't believe you are supposed to be in my room. It's unseemly," she said primly, but with a flash of mischief dancing in her brown eyes.

He turned back to her, his eyes darkening as she shivered under his intense gaze.

"No, I suppose you are right. I shouldn't be here."

With swift movements, he approached her, and she shrank back a bit, not out of fear, but because he had invaded her personal space, looking down at her with curiosity, anticipation, and barely concealed lust.

She felt a tingle in her hand and looked down to see his long fingers caressing her palm softly before gently pressing a deep purple rose into it and folding her own fingers around it. He slowly brought her hand up to his mouth and pressed a light kiss to her fingers, still clutching the flower, which matched his shirt perfectly. Molly's mouth popped open, her breath coming in short pants, and her eyes closed. Some primal part of her desperately hoped he'd do the ungentlemanly thing and not wait for the wedding, rather take her right then and there. When nothing happened, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

Sherlock was trembling, beads of sweat appearing on his brow, the result of the incredible restraint he was using in not acting on their mutual desire. He lowered his head to her ear and whispered, his low voice throwing her libido into overdrive.

"Molly," he said, his voice strained. "Molly, there are people here who are a threat to us. Powerful people. They mustn't know that this is anything more than a forced event, and a biological compatibility. They can't know," he choked slightly, "they can't know that we, that I, want this." He sighed, sinking closer still to her trembling form. "God, how I want this."

He raised a hand to her chin, cupping it gently and rubbing the pad of his thumb across her lips. Then, as suddenly as he'd appeared, her betrothed exited the room and she was left alone.

Molly stood still for a moment, collecting her wits and calming her body, which had gone on high alert with his close proximity to her. He'd given her much to think about, not the least of which was the threat to herself and her soon to be husband. Her eyes narrowed. No one, she didn't care who they were, or how powerful, no one would take her alpha from her.

She looked back down at the rose in her palm and smiled, walking over to the mirror. She took in her reflection and tucked the little flower into her hair, now eager to see her mate again.

Sherlock slipped back into his room down the hall and grimaced down at his erection. He hadn't intended for that to happen.

Thank the powers that be, that he had held it together. He'd almost come undone at the sensation of her small body so close to his.

Of course, he understood the biology of it all, but he'd been around other omegas who'd been attractive to him, purely based on their chemical makeup, but he'd always been able to control himself. He shook his head ruefully, moving a hand up to run through his curls.

The truth was, Molly Hooper was not just biologically compatible with him.

He knew, from the second he'd laid eyes on her at Bart's, that she was something more. The thought simultaneously thrilled and frightened him. Not only because he lived a dangerous life and would now have to worry for her safety, but also because he'd lived so long ignoring everything but his work, pushing the demands of his body aside for things he deemed more important. And though, yes, he'd experimented in the past, he'd never had the urge for anything more permanent than a drunken shag.

It took him completely by surprise when he'd immediately felt the desire to push the little omega kneeling in front of him to the floor and fuck her into oblivion, before marking and claiming her as his own. God, she wasn't even in heat and he could barely keep it together around her.

Sherlock hated to admit it, but Mycroft had done an exceptional job in picking a mate for his younger brother.

He'd practically sprinted away from Molly, seeking out a hidden place, and frantically ripped at his trousers and pants, releasing his swollen cock into his hand and stroking vigorously. Within minutes, he came hard, panting, whispering her name over and over.

After, he'd gone back to his flat at Baker Street and mulled over his reaction to the quiet little woman who would soon become his mate. He found that he was far from averse to the idea, which was shocking considered his vehement objections in the past. Sherlock had never been aroused so often, even during his teen years. Every time she flitted across his thoughts, which was alarmingly often, he found himself hardening. It was rather embarrassing, especially the time he'd had to flee a crime scene in mid-deduction after her face had invaded his mind, when he thought of how interested she'd be in the body he was investigating.

He'd gathered all the material he could find on her, taking liberties with his brother's clearances within the government databases. He now knew quite a bit about her and what he'd found made him even more interested in her. She was brilliant, obviously not up to his level or Mycroft's, but could best him in certain fields.

All that had led to his stealthy visit to the room where she was being readied for the ceremony. He'd seen the women attending her leave, and waited a moment before crossing the hall swiftly and entering her room. Not a second too soon either, he noticed as he quietly closed the door behind him.

She had been looking out the window, no doubt contemplating a means of escape, and his alpha nature reared itself, annoyed at the thought of his mate not wanting him. He soothed himself with the assurance that she had not yet seen him, not in the context of him being her mate. He'd caught a whiff of her attraction to him in the brief seconds he'd been close to her at Bart's. He was confident that she would feel that attraction a hundred times over now, with the knowledge that he was to be her companion from this day onward.

There was a thought. He'd never be alone again. Rather than annoying, he found the thought strangely welcome. He was tired of saying that being alone protected him. While in a sense it was true, it wasn't the whole truth. John, his best friend and best man, who waited for him downstairs, protected him in many ways.

He pushed all those thoughts away now, and looked into the mirror again, having calmed himself slightly. The door opened and Mycroft entered, followed closely by John, both with disapproving looks on their faces. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, dropping into a chair and waiting for the inevitable barrage of criticisms from his brother and friend.

"Sherlock, you utter cock."

Of course, John spoke first.

"You know you can't go in there! She's in heat for heaven's sake! You've got to be kidding me!"

Sherlock sighed dramatically, and stopped his friend's rant with his own low voice.

"John please, I can control myself."

From another chair in the corner of the room, Mycroft tsked.

"That isn't quite true is it? If the cameras are to be believed that is."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, his jaw tensing.

"Don't push me, brother mine. After all," he added with a dangerous glint in his eye, "you're an unbonded alpha. I could view you as a threat."

The smirk slowly died from Mycroft's smug face and in turn, grew on Sherlock's. The Holmes brothers eyed each other for a long moment before Mycroft stood and stiffly walked to the door, nodding to John as he passed him. He paused at the door and looked back.

"They saw nothing, the security is still in place and holding. Don't blow it during the ceremony. If you want to keep her safe," his brow raised as Sherlock's fist clenched, "then don't let them see. Sentiment," he shook his head, "sentiment will be the death of you, little brother." He let himself out.

Sherlock stood and poured himself and John both a glass of whiskey.

"So you really do like her then?" John asked, after taking a sip from his cup.

Sherlock merely nodded between sips and sighed.

"I suppose you told her about it then?" John continued, conversationally.

Sherlock grunted an affirmation the coughed as the liquor burnt his throat.

"I told her that we had to be careful, nothing more," he replied. "Now, it's time to get down there.

He set his drink down and checked the mirror one last time, a nervous feeling blooming in his belly, and took a deep breath. When he turned back, John was smiling, obviously remembering his own wedding day, when he'd met and married his soul mate, Mary.

Sherlock raised a brow at his friend and together they left the room, walking downstairs to the ceremony, though Sherlock did pause outside of Molly's, drinking in the scent of her that was wafting through the closed door. John prodded him and the groom glared, but continued on down the stairs to await his omega at the place where they would become man and wife.

Molly hummed to herself, unable to wipe the smile from her face.

_How odd_, she thought. _An hour ago I was furious and sad. Now, I can't wait to be married. Biology..._

She shook her head. No, it was more than mere biology. Something more drew her to him. Sherlock Holmes, her soon to be husband. Very soon to be. She glanced up at the clock as the door opened and her mother, along with her best friend and only bridesmaid, Meena. Her friend's eyes flitted over Molly's form silently and the bride flushed, positive that Meena saw some evidence that Sherlock had been in the room. Molly's mother fussed with the dress, her eyes suspiciously moist and clicked her tongue softly. She stepped back to look at her daughter and stopped.

"What a beautiful flower, Molly. I don't remember seeing that here earlier."

Molly flushed bright pink, and was grateful for the lace covering her face, that hid her blush from the prying eyes in front of her.

"It was… sent. By Sher… Mr. Holmes." She stuttered over his name, remembering just in time that she had refused to use his given name before.

Her temperature spiked and she moaned, nearly falling to the floor. Her alpha had passed by. She could smell the enticing aroma that announced his presence. Molly clenched her fists, willing herself not to run to the door and fling it open, to drop to the floor and let him take her right there, his cock deep inside her in front of everyone.

She could feel her juices slowly running down her legs and understood why she wasn't given stockings or shoes. They just would have been soaked and uncomfortable. Even her knickers were bothering her, rubbing far too much and yet far too gently against her swollen sex. Beads of sweat broke out across her body and she bit her lip, trying to hold in another moan.

"It's almost time sweetheart," her mother soothed as Meena handed her a glass of wine. It was rich and fruity, and Molly drank greedily when it was held to her lips. The alcohol and whatever was in it, temporarily cleared her mind and she reveled in the cooler feel of the air.

One more glance at the clock told her it was time.

Molly let her mother straighten her veil again and followed as they led her from the room. She had to stop several times in the hall, and brace herself against the wall. Her mate's smell hung strongly in the air of the corridor and it caused her heat to flare again. Her breathing was quick by the time the three women reached the large ballroom of the exclusive hotel Sherlock's family had bought out for the occasion.

The petite omega gulped, swaying back and forth slowly, an unconscious symptom of both the heat and her nervousness. Then in a flurry of movement, her bouquet was thrust into her hand and her mother disappeared, followed closely by Meena, who gave her a wink and a squeeze on her shoulder, before straightening and beginning her walk down the aisle. Molly sighed, wishing again that her father was around to walk her down the aisle, but then again, she wasn't sure she wanted him to see his little girl lusting so hard after a man she barely knew.

She heard the music that announced her entry and the double doors opened, revealing the lavishly decorated hall. Molly gasped in spite of herself, her eyes going round at the sight. The room was draped in the traditional colors, ivory and a deep red wine color. Blood and sex, the two unspoken meanings of the colors, integral parts of the bonding process. There were flowers everywhere; hanging with the drapes, tied to every available surface with silky ribbons. The guests stood for the ceremony, which would be, thankfully, a short one, traditional in the vows and symbolic binding of the alpha and omega hands with silks of the customary colors.

She glanced around the room nervously, not knowing the vast majority of them. She tried to guess who Sherlock had been referring to as a threat to them, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. She supposed if it was easy to spot, everyone would know.

Suddenly, she caught a whiff of her mate and all thoughts left her.

Molly's feet propelled her towards the enticing scent of her alpha, her eyes dilating with desire as she neared him. The appreciative murmurs of the crowd as she appeared in her exquisite gown and began to walk were lost on her, all her focus on her mate.

He, in turn, was staring at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world. And, in spite of her normal insecurities and fears, Molly felt at that moment that she was. She reached the front of the room and handed her bouquet to Meena with a dazed look on her face, and turned to face Sherlock.

He thought he had it under control, he really did.

He had never been so wrong.

The second Sherlock laid eyes on Molly, he very nearly ruined everything. It was important that this be viewed as a forced arrangement, which to be fair, it was to begin with, but now it was anything but. Sherlock knew though, that he couldn't appear too involved with his little omega, who was looking at him with such love and lust that he was fighting for control.

His quick eyes tore away from her soft face for a brief second, scanning the crowd for those who posed a threat to him and Mycroft, and found them watching the exchange between alpha and omega intently. His eyes then flitted to Mycroft, who gave a barely perceptible nod, and then back to Molly.

_Keep it together, keep it together._

Sherlock barely heard the words of the pompous officiator of the wedding. It was all traditional anyway, nothing that he hadn't heard a dozen times at a dozen weddings. The time came to bind their hands and he forced himself to remain unmoved, at least on the surface, allowing only the slightest bit of attraction to his mate to slip through. None at all, and it would obviously be an act. After all, they were biological compatible and innately attracted to each other. Too much though, and the interest of his enemies would be piqued.

Molly, for her part, seemed to be holding up well, even though the heat raging through her body was causing her to shake and sweat. The smell of that sweat though, Sherlock took a deep breath through the nose, reveling in the scent of his omega. Even like this, ESPECIALLY like this, she smelled absolutely fantastic, like lemon and honeysuckle and jasmine.

He gently stroked her thumb with his own, confident that it couldn't be seen by the people below. He said his lines by memory, swearing to protect and honor his omega for as long as they both lived. She in turn promised to care for and submit to him for the rest of their lives. He pride swelled at the look in her eyes as she recited her vows, a look that promised far more than the appropriate words said in front of the crowd.

He shifted, his hard cock straining at his trousers. It was normal; in fact it was abnormal that an alpha was not moved in such a way with his omega standing so close, but Sherlock was frustrated by it. Not because he didn't want to have that reaction to her, but because he couldn't drag Molly to the floor and bury himself in her wet heat at that exact moment.

Finally, the ceremony was over, much shorter than a beta wedding, which stuck to other traditions, but still too long for the alpha and omega who were hurting to be bonded.

Sherlock took Molly's hand gingerly, aware of the goose bumps that broke out on her skin and wondering how they would feel against his tongue. They turned to face the crowd, which had broken into applause, and acknowledged them.

Then, it was time to make their exit and let the party continue without them.

Molly shook slightly as she clung to Sherlock's arm. He whisked her away from the ballroom, looking over his shoulder once as he dragged her through the door. She'd followed his line of sight and saw his brother, Mycroft she thought, engaging a couple men in conversation, along with a mysterious woman with bright red lips.

Within seconds of shutting the door behind them, Sherlock had her pressed up against the wall next to it and was snogging the breath out of her.

He moved to her neck, trailing kisses from behind her ear down to her collarbone, sucking and nipping at her pulse point, where he would mark her at the height of the coupling. She let out a needy moan, willing him to touch her where her pulse pounded the hardest, but he pulled away from her, panting with lust and need.

"Not here," he whispered against her skin. "Not here, someone might see us."

"I don't care," Molly whined, frantic almost to the point of incoherence. She needed him. She needed him badly. Never in her life had she felt such raw desire, such agonizing pain with the need to couple, not even with her very first, and before this only, heat.

She desperately tried to wrap her body around his, but he grabbed her hands and held the behind her back with one of his much larger ones. He groaned against her as she rubbed her petite frame against him, mindless in her need for him.

Suddenly, he knelt down in front of her and took the hem of her gorgeous lace dress with his long fingers and with barely any effort, ripped it from her feet to her upper thighs. He looked up at her and gave a wicked grin, before ducking his head to her thigh and running the flat of his tongue along the rivulet of her arousal that ran down her leg. Molly nearly collapsed as desire rocketed through her veins. He groaned again, louder, and she could see that he was fighting not to drag her to the floor, She tried to lay down of her own accord but he stood and in on fluid movement, hoisted her up, hauling her against his body yet again and encouraging her to wrap her legs, now free to move courtesy of the large rip in the dress, around his narrow waist.

She complied and he instantly set off down the hall, passing several doors, which he muttered were guest rooms, and entered an elevator towards the end of the corridor. He braced her against the wall, grinding his length against her core, causing Molly to cry out, and punched several buttons, a code, before the doors closed behind them.

As soon as they began to move, he attacked her, frantically nipping and sucking at her neck. She knew she'd have marks the next day, but it elated her, rather than bothering her. Molly wanted everyone to know that she belonged to him. That she was Sherlock Holmes' omega and bondmate.

_Bondmate._

Just the thought of him sinking his teeth into her neck with his knot inside her, made Molly writhe against him, desperate for friction against her dripping sex. Sherlock braced her against the wall again, and widened his stance, reaching down with one hand to slip his fingers into the soaked cloth of her knickers and brush against her slit. The omega shuddered and moaned, arching against his hand, needing more pressure. He obliged, circling her clit slowly with his long index finger. After a second, he took his hand away, eliciting a noise of frustration from her, and brought his hand to his mouth, sucking on the wet digit greedily. Molly's eyes widened and the pupils dilated further, leaving only a tiny ring of the chocolate colored iris around the blackness in the center.

The doors of the elevator opened into a large suite, filled with ivory and red roses, with a large bouquet of yellow daisies as well. Molly wondered idly how he had known that those were her favorite flowers, but the idea left her almost immediately as Sherlock easily carried her across the room and laid her down gently on the bed.

He grinned down at her wolfishly as she moaned and rubbed her legs together, reaching for him. He darted away, but only far enough to divest himself of his shoes and sock, then the bespoke suit, ripping it in two places, and tear off the gorgeous purple shirt, causing buttons to fly in every direction. He wore no belt, (no need when his trousers were tailored to his dimensions) and so made short work of that article of clothing as well. He left his pants on, but Molly's eyes widened as she took in the sight of his hard length tenting the front of them.

She scrambled to her knees on the bed and bowed her head, hoping he would take the hint. The sharp intake of air indicated that he did indeed follow her line of thought, and was beyond pleased with the idea. He glanced around, and picked up his shirt, folding it several times until it was a long strip of material, no more than a few inches wide, and wrapped it around her head, tying it behind her using the arms.

Now, Molly was in the dark, and Sherlock took great pleasure in touching everywhere on her body, making her jump of the sensations and mewl with pleasure. He avoided her cunt, choosing instead to run his hands over her exposed skin before taking hold of her dress once more and ripping it from her body.

Sherlock groaned appreciatively at the sight of Molly's bridal undergarments; a simple ivory underbust corset, laced in the front with ribbons of a deep wine color. She wore a quarter cup bra of the wine color and her dusky pink nipples were hard from a combination of his touches, her heat and the friction of the material against them. He ran a nail across one, noting her shudder of approval, then repeated the action, this time harder.

She moaned loudly and he smirked. He had deduced that she would like for him to use her body, to control her pleasure and his own, and that she would like for him to use force. It was perfect; SHE was perfect. He pushed her, hard enough to throw off her balance and cause her to fall back against the mattress. As beautiful as her wedding finery was, he was anxious to get it off of her and he did, tearing it from her small frame with controlled strength. He didn't want to hurt her beyond what she would consider erotic, so he had to be careful.

Once she was divested of the corset and bra, he turned his attention to her knickers. They were the same color as the bra, except sheer. He could see the damp brown curls of her sex through the material and the sight drove him wild. With a push of his thumbs, that article of clothing fell away as well, leaving her totally open before him.

He brought the knickers to his mouth, sucking on them for a second, his eyes rolling back at the intoxicating taste of her.

He'd done all the teasing he was capable of, especially since she'd begun to whisper demands for him to take her. He chuckled.

_Oh, no, that won't do at all._

"Turn over," he growled, his voice menacing. Molly scrambled to comply, rolling over onto the stomach, as he pushed his pants to the floor, freeing his cock. He grabbed at her hips, pulling her to her hands and knees and slipped his fingers into her wetness. She keened and pushed back against him helplessly, begging for more with her upturned bottom. He smiled wickedly and brought his soaked fingers up to her arse hole, swirling them around the puckered hole, watching in fascination as it contracted at the contact. She gave a loud groan and he made note of it for later exploration. Now, he had neither the time, nor the desire, as he was focused much more on her cunt.

To that end, he pulled her further back, until she was at the edge of the bed, and lined up, thrusting into her in one clean movement. They vocalized their satisfaction simultaneously and he stilled within her, taking deep breaths to help get himself under control.

It had never been this good. Feeling her tight sex clenched around his thick shaft send waved of pleasure coursing through his veins, better than any hit he'd ever experienced. Sherlock groaned out his approval as she pushed herself against him, pleading for him to move in the most filthy language imaginable. He quickly obliged her, grabbing hold of her hips and pulling almost all the way out, before slamming back into her, setting a punishing, rough rhythm. Molly screamed out her pleasure, as he watched his cock repeatedly disappear into her dripping cunt.

The sounds of their hips slapping together filled the room, along with their grunts and pants of exertion. It was the most erotic thing Sherlock had ever heard.

He fucked her ruthlessly, impaling her tiny body on his cock over and over, leaning over to nip at her back and waist. She quivered under him, his teeth sending her over the edge into orgasm. Sherlock groaned and his lips formed silent curse words as she tightened around him. He could feel his knot beginning to form at the base of his swollen dick and pulled out of her, flipping her over and pulling her legs to rest on his shoulders, leaving only her shoulders and head onto the bed, the rest of her body supported by his tall frame.

He leaned over and pulled the shirt from her face, running his hand along her cheek tenderly as she blinked in the dim light of the room. She smiled up at him, her face full of trust and love. His eyes narrowed and he pushed back into her, the wet heat of her sex welcoming him in once more.

He resumed his furious pace immediately, leaving Molly to claw at the bed in an attempt to brace herself against his brutal thrusts. She was panting out encouragement, telling him how much she loved his cock and how well he was fucking her and how much she wanted him.

His knot swelled, making his thrusts shallower, until he was rocking against her sweet spot repeatedly. She came again with an incoherent scream that sounded vaguely like his name, her head thrashing violently against the soft bedding. Sherlock leaned over and latched his teeth into her neck, causing her to immediately crest into another orgasm as he tore at her pulse point, reveling in the salty taste of her blood. Seconds later, he followed her into orgasm, a blinding heat surging through his body, as his cum filled her womb and her blood filled his mouth.

"Fuck! Molly!" he growled against her skin, as his cock spasmed inside her and he froze, emptying himself into her.

He fell onto her, both of them panting heavily, and he wrapped his arms around her as their sweat cooled and they waited for his knot to dissipate enough to allow their bodies to separate. He brushed the hair from her face and smiled down at his omega.

Molly smiled shyly back up at him and Sherlock found himself, for the first time in his adult life, completely happy. He traced the mark left in her neck by his teeth and she shuddered, her pupils dilated once more and he chuckled.

"Patience love," he grinned down at her as she squirmed against him. "We have our whole lives ahead of us."


End file.
